


bruises on your thighs like my fingerprints

by trishapocalypse



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (briefly) - Freeform, (kind of), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Dirty Talk, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Spanking, Unsafe Sex, idk how to tag that bit because it's kind of a theme??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 15:41:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2314793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trishapocalypse/pseuds/trishapocalypse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Because Zayn—Zayn had always been the one to keep Harry calm, keep his heart rate down, slot their fingers together after a particularly rough day whenever they were in the car headed back to the hotel. Zayn had always been the one to rub at Harry’s neck <b>just so,</b> had always been the one to know the perfect way to bring his breathing back to normal, bring his heart rate down, and keep him from getting too lost within his own head.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	bruises on your thighs like my fingerprints

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LouisTomlinson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouisTomlinson/gifts).



> Please note the tag for anxiety as it is a theme/issue within the story; it's slight, mainly mentioned, anxiety attacks and the like, but I wanted to mention it anyway. This is a late (late late late) birthday gift for my sweet, sweet, Jessica--I'm sorry it took so long, babe, I hope you like it! But also the world is lacking Zarry as of late. Anyway, the usual applies: not mine, never happened, blah blah, hope you like it. :)
> 
> tumblr: @trishanthemum !

The thing was, Harry just got in _those moods_ sometimes. It was probably a mixture of the fame and the paparazzi and the, well, endlessly being followed and mobbed wherever he went. And Harry was a people person, loved them, loved being around them, just—well, _usually._ It always got worse when he was in L.A., which was unfortunate because he _loved_ the city, loved how busy it was, loved how he could almost blend into a crowd. 

(It didn’t usually work, but he _tried._ )

By the time Harry found his way out of the mob in the airport, into his Range Rover and out onto the highway, he could almost breathe again. His heart had been stuck in his throat, pounding and pounding until he couldn’t hear the screams of the girls around him, could only focus on breathing in and out, in and out, just like Zayn had taught him years before on The X-Factor. 

Because Zayn—Zayn had always been the one to keep Harry calm, keep his heart rate down, slot their fingers together after a particularly rough day whenever they were in the car headed back to the hotel. Zayn had always been the one to rub at Harry’s neck _just so,_ had always been the one to know the perfect way to bring his breathing back to normal, bring his heart rate down, and keep him from getting too lost within his own head. 

Harry was positive Zayn was the only thing in his life keeping him sane. Or, at least, that’s how it felt most days. It was something they didn’t discuss, never had to; it was a routine that they fell into seamlessly, that the other lads didn’t understand, but they also didn’t question it. Even if it was unconventional, Harry couldn’t imagine a tour without the late night cuddles and cramped-bunk handjobs and the rare undisturbed hotel night where they had energy for anything other than crawling under the covers to sleep for twelve hours. 

Those were the best nights, when Zayn would take care of Harry the best way he knew how, with gentle kisses and gentle hands. But sometimes they both needed more—Harry a little more desperate for it, Zayn a little more controlled, but just barely. Those were the nights where Harry would cling to Zayn or the headboard, whichever was closest, tears forming in his eyes as Zayn whispered in his ear for him to just _let go._

Those were the nights where Harry truly felt at peace, with himself, with his job, with the world; those were the nights where he would shudder after coming down, Zayn’s voice soft against his neck, hands at his back, rubbing at his soft skin until his breathing evened out. Those were the nights that Harry slept peacefully, slept for hours, waking up with his body curled around Zayn’s and never wanting to move. 

That was precisely why Zayn was the first person Harry called when he got back to his house in L.A. He hadn’t been there often, hadn’t stayed any longer than a couple of days at a time, but he had to get away. He sat in the garage for a few minutes, breathing in deep while he waited for Zayn to answer the phone. Predictably, he didn’t, not that Harry was surprised—except, well, he kind of _was,_ because as much as Zayn hated talking on his mobile, he always answered for Harry. 

Harry pouted, shoving his mobile into his pocket before climbing out of his car and making his way inside. He didn’t bother bringing in his bag, didn’t need it for anything, anyway; he just wanted to crawl under the covers, find a way to convince himself not to cry, and sleep for about four days. He kicked off his shoes when he got into his room, flipping on the light, and—

“Jesus, H, turn that bloody thing _off._ ”

Harry flipped the light off without a second thought, but then hesitated and— “Zayn?”

Zayn groaned when Harry turned the light back on, and he forced himself to sit up, the soft Egyptian cotton sheets falling from his bare shoulders. “Time is it?”

“It’s half-one,” Harry said softly, tugging his hat off of his head and setting it on the dresser to his left. “I thought you were in Greece—“

“Came back early,” Zayn shrugged. “Turn the light off, will ya? And get in bed.”

Wordlessly, Harry nodded and flipped the light off again; he shrugged off his plaid and his skinny jeans before climbing into his bed next to a very naked Zayn. He curled up against him automatically, letting out a little shuddering breath as Zayn’s arms wrapped around him. 

Zayn nudged his nose against the side of Harry’s neck, pulling the younger boy closer to his side until he was half across his chest. “How was the airport?” he asked quietly, feeling Harry tense underneath his arm, though he knew what the answer would be before he the words even left his lips. 

Harry shook his head, trying to roll over onto his stomach and bury himself against Zayn, wanted to disappear from the world, just for a little bit. But he couldn’t find the words to tell Zayn how bad it was, how his heart rate still hadn’t returned to normal, how he still felt like he was struggling to breathe. 

Zayn’s fingertips danced down the length of Harry’s spine, resting at his lower back and rubbing in soft, smoothing circles. He could feel the unsteady rise and fall of Harry’s chest, could nearly feel his heart racing beneath his skin, and he pressed his lips to Harry’s temple. “Babe—“

“Awful, it was awful,” Harry rushed out in a whisper, throwing an arm over Zayn’s chest and nearly crawling on top of him. 

The corner of Zayn’s lips tilted upwards and he used his knee to nudge Harry’s legs apart, slotting their bodies together a little more comfortably. He ran his hands down Harry’s side, squeezing at his hips.

“I still feel like I can’t breathe,” he admitted, pressing his lips to the center of Zayn’s chest, right over the tattoo nestled between his collarbones. 

Zayn slid his fingers into Harry’s curls, twisting in their long length, and he gently pulled Harry’s head back, taking in the pout on his lips. He scratched at his scalp for a moment, saw the way Harry’s eyes fluttered shut, how his lips quirked upwards just a little. “Wanna take your pants off for me?”

Harry nodded slowly, but made no effort to move.

With a quiet laugh, Zayn rolled them both over until he was nestled between Harry’s legs, and he sat up, reaching for the hem of his pants. Harry’s hips lifted off of the mattress easily, allowing Zayn to pull the fabric down his legs, tossing it aside carelessly. Zayn smoothed his hands up the inside of Harry’s thighs, massaging the skin, and he watched as Harry’s body slowly relaxed, sinking back into the mattress, lips parting slightly. “Yeah?”

“Zayn,” Harry whispered, reaching out to him.

Zayn leaned overtop of him, resting his forearms against the mattress, and pressed their lips together, licking into his mouth until Harry’s body was arching off the mattress, thighs bracketing his hips. Zayn pulled back with a smirk, reaching down and wrapping his fingers around his prick, rubbing the wet head of it across Harry’s bum, catching against his rim. 

Harry whimpered, slipping his hands down Zayn’s back to grip his arse, trying to pull him in. “C’mon, I—“

“Patience,” Zayn said quietly, smiling before pressing his lips to Harry’s quickly. 

“You know m’not patient,” Harry pouted, leaning up to brush his lips along Zayn’s chest, licking at his nipple as the older man reached into the nightstand, pulling out a bottle of lube. Harry moaned against his chest, biting at the skin before Zayn leaned back.

“Feel like you can breathe yet?” he asked, his voice soft, and he rested a hand on Harry’s stomach, rubbing the skin gently, because his number one priority had always been, and would always be, Harry. Before the world tours, before the fragrance, before the books, before the trashy tabloid articles, before the albums, before the _anxiety,_ Harry had been the priority, and Zayn could relate. Zayn had always been able to relate to the way Harry had to escape crowds at parties sometimes, had to take time away and shut himself in, because Zayn was the same way. And making sure that Harry was calm and comfortable and complacent was the most important thing, no matter what.

Harry sucked in a deep breath, still feeling like he couldn’t breathe, but for a completely different—and better—reason. It was always a little hard to breathe around Zayn; Harry was completely enamored and infatuated with him, even years later. And he knew what was coming, could read Zayn’s mind, and couldn’t wait, because it had been so long since they had time alone, been so long since they had time to spend together without the other lads and without restrictions and obligations, and he _wanted._

Zayn knew Harry better than he knew himself, always had, and he leaned in to kiss him again, quickly, before trailing his lips down the center of his chest. Harry sucked in a deep breath, hands slipping into Zayn’s thick hair, twisting in the strands and just resting there, not trying to guide or move him in any way, knowing Zayn wouldn’t let him anyway. Zayn bypassed Harry’s sensitive nipples with a grin before pressing a hot kiss to the wet tip of his cock, tongue darting out to tease, barely closing his lips and moaning around him, before he pulled back a little. “Good?”

Harry nodded, hair falling into his eyes, and he not-so-subtly pushed his hips up, the head of his cock smearing against Zayn’s jaw, against his scruff, and he whimpered at the sensation. 

Zayn ran his tongue along the side of Harry’s cock, mouthing at the head and tonguing the slit, before reaching for Harry’s hands, pulling them out of his hair. “Grab your thighs for me, babe,” he told him.

Harry whined and let Zayn guide his hands to the back of his thighs, lifting his legs, and he let Zayn position him however he wanted, knees bent back, close to his ears, and Zayn’s hot breath right against his hole. “Zayn, I—I need—“

“I know, babe, m’gonna take care of you,” Zayn whispered, a promise against his skin. He watched as Harry’s knuckles went white, holding his thighs apart as Zayn leaned in, pressing his lips to his rim, teasing with the tip of his tongue. He could hear Harry’s sharp intake of breath transform into a loud moan when Zayn pointed his tongue, licking him out in earnest, fingers resting on the back of Harry’s quivering thighs. 

He could feel Harry’s hips trying to rock down, slowly at first, just a little, and then more when he felt Zayn’s thumbs against his rim, pulling him apart. Harry keened when he felt the scruff of Zayn’s jaw tickling the back of his thighs, knew he would be sore for days from the way Zayn was dragging his lower lip across his rim, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin. Harry’s hands slipped from his thighs and into Zayn’s hair, tugging at the strands, and Zayn pulled away, licking at his lips and shaking his head, not that Harry could see; his eyes were screwed shut, his pretty lips bitten red, and his cheeks flushed. 

Zayn reached up and tapped at Harry’s wrist, causing the younger boy to immediately reach for his thighs again. “Good boy,” Zayn said with a smirk before leaning down to lick across his hole before trailing up the underside of his dick, mouthing at the head.

“Zayn, Zayn, Zayn, _please,_ ” Harry whimpered, back arching. 

Zayn pulled off with a wet sound and reached for the bottle of lube, uncapping it and spreading it across his fingers. He barely touched his fingertips to Harry’s hole, watching as it fluttered against the movement, and he patted at his thigh. “C’mon, get on top, babe,” he said, rolling over onto his back and pulling Harry on top of him.

Harry whined, pouting prettily as he adjusted his long limbs until he was straddling Zayn’s slim waist. He braced his hands on Zayn’s chest as he felt his fingers pressing into him, gently at first, then with two that found his prostate almost instantly. He choked back a gasp as Zayn nudged that little bundle of nerves incessantly, pushing his hips back against him, his curls falling into his face. “I’m—“

“Not yet, you’re not,” Zayn told him with a little laugh, slipping his fingers out and reaching for Harry’s hips. 

Harry’s body was so pliant and malleable, letting Zayn do whatever he wanted, and Harry huffed when the head of Zayn’s cock slid against his hole, between his cheeks, and he pushed is hips back, trying to take more. “Zayn, I—“

“C’mon, sit on it, babe,” he instructed, his voice a little rough. 

Harry sucked his bottom lip into his mouth as he reached behind, gripping Zayn’s cock and pressing it against his hole. He moaned as he teased himself for a minute, the head slipping inside then back out, smearing the back of his thighs with precome, before sinking down onto his length slowly. “ _Fuck._ ” 

Zayn exhaled slowly, fingertips clenching against Harry’s thighs, bruising the skin right by the ridiculous _Brasil_ inked into his skin. He registered Harry’s little gasp as he rocked his hips down, planting one hand on Zayn’s chest to balance himself. Zayn slipped his fingers up Harry’s thighs and to his hips, thumb pressing between the sharp line of his hipbones and the ink of the laurels across his stomach.

Harry shimmied his hips, rocking a little, feeling Zayn slide just _a little_ deeper, felt him nudge against that little bundle of nerves, and he let out a shaky breath. He felt Zayn's fingers tighten against his hips, and he rocked down again, desperate to make Zayn feel as undone as he felt. Harry forced his eyes open, looking down at Zayn as he grinded his hips down, and pouted when the older man just peered up at him with a smile and pink cheeks, and it wasn't _fair_ that Zayn looked so calm when Harry felt like he was going to explode, it just _wasn't._ " _Zayn,_ " he whined, scratching at his stomach, "m'gonna—"

Zayn shook his head, planting his feet on the mattress and thrusting his hips up once, fucking into Harry and cutting him off. "Not gonna come til I do, yeah?" he told him.

"I—"

"Ride me, babe, c'mon," Zayn urged, fucking up into him again.

Harry nodded and lifted his hips up, letting out a groan of frustration when he felt Zayn slip out, and he reached behind to line him back up, sinking down again with a happy little sigh. He paused for a minute, eyes fluttering shut as he wiggled his hips, just enjoying the feeling of Zayn being so deep inside of him, and he was shaken out of it by a sharp slap to his bum, causing him to moan. "I— _Fuck._ "

Zayn smirked up at him, fingers rubbing over his arse cheek, feeling the skin heat up. "Like that?" he asked, cheeky, not expecting Harry to nod vigorously and pant out a quiet _yeah._ Zayn did it again, the other cheek, and watched as Harry cried out, squeezing his eyes shut, rocking down against him a little faster, a little more desperately. He had a thought in the back of his head that he should've taken off his rings before, couldn't imagine that it felt nice at all with the metal around his fingers, but Harry didn't seem to mind, torn between pushing back into Zayn's hand and down onto his cock. Zayn smoothed his hand over the soft skin of Harry's bum, around to his hole, sliding one finger along where he was fucking up into him, and Harry came with a choked off cry.

"Sorry, sorry, m'so sorry," Harry rushed out, a panting mess as his body shook with his orgasm.

Zayn grabbed Harry's hips and flipped them over easily, pinning him to the mattress and fucking into him. He grabbed the back of Harry's thighs and pushed them up, thrusting deeper, bruising his pale skin, and he couldn't look away from Harry, the way his long curls were spread across the pillow and his pretty pink cheeks.

Harry whined, sliding a hand down his body, through the mess he left on his stomach, and down to his hole. He watched as Zayn fucked him, reaching up to rub at his abdomen, before slipping a finger into himself alongside Zayn's cock. He whimpered at the stimulation, felt his cock twitch against his stomach uselessly, and he tried to spread his legs a little bit wider. "C'mon, come inside me," he panted.

Zayn groaned, feeling his stomach tighten up, and he fucked Harry faster, chasing his orgasm.

Harry moaned with Zayn, let him use his body, and he reached up to tug at his curls, feeling more than a little overwhelmed. "C'mon, wanna feel you, wanna feel you come," Harry whispered, knowing Zayn was close, could tell by the way his hips stuttered just a little. "Wanna feel you inside of me for days. Make a proper mess of me, yeah?"

"Fuck," Zayn cursed, fucking into Harry and stilling as he came before riding it out. He slowly pulled out a minute later, using the pad of his thumb to rub over Harry's hole, catching a bit of his spunk and pushing it back in; he was always amazed at the way Harry just let him do _anything_ to his body, especially after a powerful orgasm when he had no energy to even try to stop him.

Harry's fingers traced over Zayn's wrist before he slipped a finger back inside of himself, next to Zayn's thumb. "Fuck," he whispered, fingering himself for a minute with a sleepy, sated smile, before he pulled Zayn in for a kiss. "Let's sleep, yeah? Then you can fuck me again when we wake up."

Zayn laughed, smoothing Harry's curls back and away from his forehead. "Y'alright?" he asked softly, brushing his knuckles across the soft skin of Harry's cheek.

Harry nodded, wrapping his arms around Zayn's waist and snuggling against him. "Yeah," agreed quietly. "M'better now."


End file.
